


Yes...Sir!

by thewaterfalcon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Cabin, Christmas, Dominance, F/M, PWP, Ronsy - Freeform, Smut, Submission, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 07:19:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13002684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaterfalcon/pseuds/thewaterfalcon
Summary: The words had left her mouth before her brain had formed any reasoning as to whether she ought to utter them or not, an occurrence which Pansy was entirely used to, and often, Ron found these instances cute, insisting that Pansy was a multitude of hideous words, adorable, and lovable amongst them, when she spoke her mind without her mind’s consent.This time, however, he most certainly did not.This time, she’d gone too far.





	Yes...Sir!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SandraSempra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandraSempra/gifts), [JLPierre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JLPierre/gifts).



> For SandraSempra (who provided the lovely, innocent prompt that I turned into a dishevelled hot mess of Ronsy BDSM), and JEPierre, who both supported me after my rather embarrassing breakdown about my writer's block. I love you both!

“I thought you loved Christmas.”

 

She debated with herself whether to ignore him, but the need to retort the snap in his tone right back at him was too strong. “I do,” she replied, the two words falling from her tongue like acid. 

 

Pansy didn’t bother to look at him, already knowing full well the annoyance that had already been present on his face had just increased tenfold. “Right,” he mumbled. 

 

“I thought  _ you  _ loved not acting like a bellend.” The words had left her mouth before her brain had formed any reasoning as to whether she ought to utter them or not, an occurrence which Pansy was entirely used to, and often, Ron found these instances cute, insisting that Pansy was a multitude of hideous words,  _ adorable,  _ and  _ lovable  _ amongst them, when she spoke her mind without her mind’s consent. 

 

This time, however, he most certainly did not. 

 

This time, she’d gone too far. 

 

Biting her lip, Pansy turned her head to face him and watched as he rose from the squashy red armchair he had claimed upon their arrival to the cabin and stomped across the open plan living area, to the door. 

 

_ For fuck’s sake,  _ she thought to herself, the reality of what she was about to do washing over her in a wave of dread. Pansy followed Ron’s lead and stood up, before beginning to pad her way after him. 

 

Ron didn’t look back, even when Pansy knew he must've heard her footsteps behind him. Instead, he breathed a heavy sigh through his nose and began to pull his boots onto his sock-clad feet. 

 

Clearing her throat, Pansy, unsure of how to begin, watched tentatively as Ron continued to ignore her. And, as much as she knew, logically, he currently had more reason to be annoyed at her, the lack of response irritated her. She repeated the sound, louder this time, and with more force, only for Ron to let out a snigger, of all things, in return. 

 

“And what  _ exactly  _ is supposed to be funny?” Pansy snapped, all traces of the planned apology out the window. 

 

“You.”

 

The word felt like a slap. 

 

“You think because you’ve suddenly developed an aversion to snow that you can treat the rest of us like shit. No, scrap that, you can treat  _ me  _ like shit. And so as much as I don’t particularly  _ want _ to go out there trudging after Harry and Malfoy to get the stupid tree, or after Hermione and Nott, to that bloody shed that may or may not be a corner shop, I’m going to, because if I spend another second with you and your fucking mood I’m going to apparate onto the roof and jump off!”

 

Pansy stared at her boyfriend, utterly dumbfounded, marginally angry...and, for some reason unbeknownst to herself, infuriatingly aroused. 

 

“Fuck me.” 

 

“Really, its that hard to believe that after the way you’ve acted  _ since we arrived _ , I wouldn’t want to spend any more time with you?”

 

“No,” Pansy replied, taking a step closer to him. “Wrong context. Fuck. Me…. Now.”

 

She watched as comprehension dawned over his face, and for a long moment after he simply stared at her, and she, him. And then his brow furrowed, in such a Ron-ish way, that Pansy felt a sudden desire to burst out laughing, until he, eyes still locked to hers, kicked the still not laced boots from his feet and closed the gap between them. No sooner than he stood directly in front of her, did he place his palms on either side of her face, and hurled his lips against hers. 

 

It wasn’t tender, like his kisses had often become of late, nor was it tentative, laced with the unsurety that had governed the intimate moments at the beginning of their relationship. It held a fierceness that she was still acquainting herself with, but that she had grown to enjoy very much, very quickly. 

 

It was fuelled by fire and coursed through her like ice. The force his lips pressed against hers was pleasingly painful, and the grip of her head in his hands was dominating, full of the frustration both still obviously felt. 

 

Her own hands snaked around him to the small of Ron’s back. Pansy grabbed fistfuls of his jumper and pulled his torso as close into hers as she was able, whimpering slightly as one of Ron’s hands moved back and locked onto a handful of her hair, clutching it tightly by her scalp. 

 

Pansy began, as carefully as she could, considering the tight, pleasurable, certainly - but definitely painful hold Ron still held of her hair, to move backwards, guiding him with her until her bottom felt the back of the nearby sofa. Ron, obviously realising this too, pressed himself into Pansy, as close as was possible, his lips refusing to leave hers even for a second. 

 

Uncurling his fingers from the hold on her hair, Pansy felt both of Ron’s hands make their way down past her shoulders, and onto the side of her stomach, where they remained for several seconds, his fingertips clenching into her waist as his mouth began to wander from hers, as he planted several kisses along her jaw and further down. She sucked in several hisses of pain as his teeth met the tender flesh of her neck, unapologetically biting her as hard as he dared, yet still making sure to caress each bite mark with his tongue gently before moving onto the next. 

 

Using his still tight hold on her waist to guide her, Pansy felt Ron move her body slowly around until eventually, she was standing in front of him, her back flush with his front as his arms roamed wildly over her stomach, the very definite shape of his erection pressing into her behind. 

 

Throwing her head backwards, resting against Ron’s right shoulder, Pansy hummed as the movements of his fingertips, now under her top, lightened, and she moaned, loudly, when both of his hands moved suddenly upwards, forcing their way under her bra and began to roughly caress her breasts.

 

“Do you like that?” his voice was gruff against her ear, and Pansy, smirking, deliberately didn’t answer, instead opting to push her behind further against his crotch.

 

Obviously unimpressed by the lack of response, Ron took Pansy’s left nipple in between his index finger and thumb, and pinched, hard. “I said, ‘Do you like that?’”

 

“Ahh!” Pansy squealed. “Yes!”

 

A further pinch and squeal followed. “Yes...  _ what?” _

 

“Yes, Sir!”

 

“Better,” Ron replied, removing one hand from its breast and bringing it downwards, over her stomach, before reaching the button of her jeans, which was wrenched open and Ron’s hand was dipped below the black denim, ghosting its way beneath her underwear to her core. “Oh now,” he began as Pansy purred when his fingertips met her, already wet, folds. “Someone  _ is  _ enjoying herself, isn’t she?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Pansy repeated, grinding her hips in time with the subtle movements that Ron’s fingers had began to make, alternating their way down her slit, stopping just short of going inside, and back up, gently meeting her clit, making sure to never give Pansy the friction she so desperately desired. 

 

In one infuriatingly frustrating moment, Pansy groaned loudly as Ron’s hand left her core completely, leaving her soaking and wanting, and grinding herself against him all the more furiously. 

 

He chuckled darkly and whispered, “Turn around,” into her ear. Pansy swallowed, wishing more than anything he’d return his hand to her most sensitive point, and turned on the balls of her feet, until she was facing him, her eyes level with his chest, which she realised, was bare. 

 

“Look at me,” he commanded, and she relented, tilted her face upwards to watch as Ron took the hand that was, seconds before, inside her, and brought his fingertips first to his own mouth, and then hers. “You taste good,” he observed. 

 

“Thank you, Sir.”

 

“Unfortunately,” Ron began, “that doesn’t take away from the fact that you were a bad girl, does it?” he asked, referring to the huff Pansy had thrown since their arrival to the cabin. 

 

“No, Sir.”

 

“And what happens when you behave like a bad girl?”

 

“I get punished,” Pansy replied, swallowing as she pushed her thighs together as tightly as she could, wishing she were able to feel some sort of  _ something _ on her clit. 

 

“That’s right,” Ron praised, planting a single, chaste kiss on Pansy’s forehead, “and how do you get punished?”

 

“I get spanked.”

 

“Good girl. Now, I want you to turn back around, Beautiful, and bend yourself over the back of this couch.”

 

Pansy dipped her head in response and turned immediately, positioning herself exactly as Ron had told her too. The couch featured a fairly low back and it did, Pansy observed, stand at a good height for a spanking. 

 

She nudged her behind backwards just enough to help Ron peel her jeans down her legs. He didn’t bother to take off her underwear, instead opting to pull the, already fairly scant material, up further, so that it gathered in her bottom, revealing her round cheeks to him. 

 

The first smack shocked her, as it always did, no matter how much she was expecting it. The second caused her to hiss through her teeth, but by the fourth she was arching her behind upwards, eagerly awaiting the sharp sting of her boyfriend’s palm. And by the sixth, Pansy was positively crying out in pleasure with each smack, as Ron’s other hand reached down low, and curled its way towards her, now soaking, core. With each following smack, he matched the pressure by pinching her clit, sending equal jolts of pain and thrill through Pansy’s entire body. 

 

After fifteen spanks, Ron bent over Pansy and whispered in her ear, “Stand up now, slowly, Beautiful, your punishment is over,” and, as Pansy stood, still mewling as Ron worked his fingers against her clit. “You did so well,” he added, kissing the back of her neck, and, using his free arm to steady her as much as he could, turned her around, only tearing his other arm from her centre enough to position her how he wanted her, before reaching for her sensitive clit once more. 

 

Pansy, feeling slightly dazed as her orgasm grew more imminent, leant her entire body against Ron’s as his fingers brought her, slowly at first, and then erupting in quickening waves of pleasure coursed from her clit as she came, crying his name, not his title, into the air of the cabin. 

 

“So perfect,” Ron whispered into Pansy’s hair as he kissed the side of her head. Carefully, he leant downwards and, placing his arm underneath her knee, his other arm still firmly around her back, he lifted her, still dazed, body up, and walked straight past the couch she’d been sitting on during their argument, but to one of the doors behind, that led to the bedroom Pansy had insisted they claim. 

 

Placing her gently on the bed, Ron busied himself taking her jeans, which had remained in a messy heap still around her ankles, off entirely, before accompanying her atop the bedclothes, and pulling her close to him, littering the top of her head in an array of soft kisses. 

 

“That was fun,” Pansy remarked, feeling somewhat that her head was beginning to lose the fuzziness she always experienced after a  _ punishment.  _

 

“Hmmm,” Ron hummed in agreement. “A part of me feels like you planned that all along, and that’s why you acted like such a brat.”

 

Pansy snorted. “Nope. I acted like a brat because I got wet feet from the snow and everyone laughed about it.”

 

Sighing, in what Pansy assumed was half in exasperation and half in amusement, Ron replied, “Of course you did.”

 

Pansy snaked her arms up and around Ron’s neck. “I feel okay now,” she told him. 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah, and I have an idea…” she trailed off, making sure to look at Ron through batting eyelashes. 

 

“Do you now?”

 

“I do.”

 

“And what’s that?”

 

Instead of answering straight away, Pansy pushed her head forward and planted a solitary kiss, and then a sharp bite, upon Ron’s neck. “Guess,” she replied sweetly, grinning at the sharp intake of breath she heard from Ron at the action. 

 

Ron met her lips with his own and ran his fingers up and through his girlfriend’s hair, before smiling against her mouth. “How do you want me...Madam?”

 

End. 

 


End file.
